


Where Dreams Lie- Part One

by Larryandparmaham



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dialogue, Fiction, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, Mystery, Psychological Trauma, Science Fiction, Short, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larryandparmaham/pseuds/Larryandparmaham
Summary: Each night Ataro is tormented by nightmares of silver, of gold, of fire; each day he is riddled with an emptiness. Will he continue to live in this loop for the rest of his life? Follow Ataro as he discovers where his dreams lie.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed part one of my modern thriller short story, please feel free to support me by buying the full length short story for 99 cents on Amazon under the same title:) Thank you so much for your support!

Chapter One

It was maddening. All of it. Sweat trickled down Ataro’s neck like raindrops rolling down old broken window panes. It was 3 am. Birdsong was nonexistent.The moon had killed the sun’s constant gaze upon Salvador street.The dew upon the grass gleamed vividly, reflecting the looming rays of moonlight that brightened the otherwise pitch black night sky. The only sound that could be heard was his soft breath in the safety of his chambers.

It was maddening.

The sheets stained with sweat failed to comfort him.What was confort? A familiar's loving gaze? Or was it having the ability to live extravagantly for another day? Is it grandiose food and furniture, or the ability to stay solitary without worries or fear?  
Ataro had all of it. However, he wished he didn't see, didn’t hear, couldn’t feel the immense inner emptiness that ate at his soul.

Oh he felt so damn empty.

Ataro sat up, his sweat soaked sheets and flannel pajamas making it impossible to even attempt to slumber any further.

He liked his room.

Black curtains hung from victorian windows, making him feel that he was the ruler of his castle. His velvet couch and victorian king-sized bed proved him to be worthy. Of something. He was the god of his room, and in this safe haven he could do anything he wished. He could burn all of his silk sheets in his rustic antique fireplace. Or paint his walls with the blood of the next door neighbor’s husband. He had always loved the color red.

“Water” he croaked.

The dreams he had were consistent, poignant, and unforgettable.How could he ever forget? He has been having them since he was thirteen. For thirteen years he had been having the same dreams: the same flower that swallowed him whole, the same botanical acid that seared his flesh to expose white bones.The same angel of death, a purple beauteous entity shrouded in smoke, waiting to toss him-where? Oh that changed; it depended on the day. Mondays and Wednesdays he was tossed in the gutter and on Tuesdays and Thursdays into a two-thousand degree fahrenheit river made of gold.

How classy.

Oh, but Saturday and Sunday’s tossing weren't so bad. He was tossed into a bed of silver and copper. And how he loved silver. He craved the sleek shine of the metal, how it seemed to compliment his life. Silver linings meant hope. And the possibility of salvation.  
He could do without the nightly hauntings of his mind.

Ataro, though disoriented from his restless dreams of terror, stumbled his way to the kitchen, a routine so familiar at this time of night that he could do it whilst asleep.  
His kitchen was as extravagant as his bedroom. He had an italian brick oven, worn from centuries of usage. His counters were made from exquisite grecian marble: his cabinets constructed of the finest wood- polished ebony- to compliment the counters, of course. Ataro pressed a button on his refrigerator door with a heavy sigh and let the cool liquid dispense into his favorite wine glass imported from France.

As the cool water dripped down his slender, pale throat, he felt refreshed. He didn't want to attempt to sleep tonight. He wanted to feel something other than the nothingness that impregnated his life.

Ataro broke his nightly routine: he wanted to look at himself in the mirror. Usually he did that in the mornings, a time where he could focus on looking professional; to play the proper role of the boss of Brook and Co. a well known, prosperous book publishing company. It was quite odd how he got the job. Ataro had always had a passion for the arts: for writing stories of love and romance gone wrong and lamentative, for Jackson Pollock and expression through color, for music and the way it can influence mood. He was eclectic, thirsty to make physical the invisible thoughts and feelings and emotions his psyche constantly bombarded him with. He took another sip of out of his imported glass. Ataro was desperate for a job.He wanted a job that allowed him to be exposed to everyone and everything. He yearned for fame. Ataro was at his local mall, handing out his novel about why life is similar to the Earth’s crust, layered and riddled with hundreds of diverse elements- he believed it to be the bible of the 21st century- when the editor and chief at the time for Brook and Co. had approached him. The man wore a wide brimmed, brown fedora with an equally brown, cheap suit and pants set to match. His black, shiny silk tie was partially undone around his neck and his black dress shoes were scuffed. He spoke.

“You have a certain spark in your eye,” The man’s eyes twinkled as he spoke. Situational irony.

A spark that we can use. You and me both would benefit from you working at the company. Consider it.”

The man gave a polite nod and handed him his business card; his name was Louis Jackson. How classy.

“Have you read my bible?” Ataro asked, doubtful but taken aback with hopeful surprise.

“I’ve been watching you,” he simply stated, an unreadable smirk spreading across his features.

“Excuse me?”

“I have read your work many times. Its invigorating. It's refreshing. Ineffable.”

A great swell of pride overcame Ataro.

“Why thank you sir,” He gave a slight bow of politeness.

“You are a star,” Mr Jackson winked, his eyes twinkling like a pile of shiny silver jax in a parking lot on a clear sunny day in July.  
Ataro couldn't help but smile at the man. But he was a bit lost. Who was this man?

“Who are you sir? And working where?” He sure as hell needed work.

“I am the Boss of Brook and Co.,” The man had stated, puffing out his chest as to emphasize his status. Or the fact that his clothes did not correlate with his extravagant paycheck. A small gold tooth peaked out from between his thin pink lips.

Ataro held back a gasp. “And you want me to work for you?”

He couldn't help but sound doubtful. This is like a dream! An actual, beautiful, dream! He never had those! He knew that name! This man, this idol, did whatever was needed in order to reach the top of the business. He was the businessmen of businessmen! He was the king of kings! He was the god who decided whether a writer’s future would fly to the heavens or burn in hellfire! He would sell his soul to work for this man.

“I hear you need work, good work, and I believe you would be a great addition to our team.”

Ataro quickly shook his hand.

”Thank you sir! You will definitely hear from me,” Ataro thanked breathlessly.

“Good.”

Mr. Jackson gracefully turned and left Ataro’s stand, leaving a slight breeze infused with the potency of authority in it’s wake.

 

After Mr. Jackson left, Ataro couldn't help but feel special. He never felt special. He was a star! He had to call him. Ataro ran to the nearest payphone, dialed the number on the card and spoke with breathless determination.

“ I’ll take you up on that offer, Mr.Jackson.”

“I’ll be waiting in my office, Mr. Ataro. Meet me in thirty minutes.”

Click.

Now he was a professional man with big responsibilities.

The tall mirror in the bathroom seems to emphasize his stature.He stared at his reflection .He was a tall man of 6’3, slim but strong enough to lift a sixty-pound box if the need arises.Which it hardly does .He liked his hair long: it was black and shiny as a crow's feathers and wisped gracefully down past his steady shoulders. His grey-blue eyes, adorned with slightly curled eyelashes that matched the shade of his mane, emphasized his cheekbones and full pink lips. His moonlike pale skin made it easier to see the redness in the whites of his eyes and the deep dark circles that scarred his ashen face. He washed his features with the steady stream of water emerging from his porcelain sink made with silver knobs.Then washed it again. He washed away the sweat of the night, his nagging thoughts and sleeplessness.  
But he couldn't wash away the feeling of emptiness he had no matter how cool the water felt against his flesh.

He needed to walk.

The night air felt like fresh silk against his smooth skin. He wanted to dance, to feel the dewy grass against his bare feet, the cool coarseness of the grey concrete gently scrape his toes as he spun away his thoughts that never seemed to relieve. He yearned for freedom.He sang, lyrics from the sundries of his mind escaping into the musky air in a light whisper, with childish enthusiasm:

“Here I am, here I am  
The place I was before  
Here i am here I am  
Moonlight plays its song  
Before long I'll be gone  
Listen or you'll miss me  
when I'm gone”

He paused when he eyed his neighbor’s house.He suddenly felt overwhelmed with irritation and anger.He had been fed up for 3 years too long.  
“Oh, you think you're so fucking grand huh?” He shouted at the mansion made of brick and mahogany

“You think you have your life together? Is that why you look down me? huh James? is that why? Cause you fucking dont! You don’t know what it is like to be a boy frozen in the flesh of man. I yearn to be shiny, to blossom gracefully, exquisitely, ferociously from the inside, to spew color upon my nights shrouded by an endless black hole of pitiful dreams of death and painful reincarnation and death and reincarnation! Do you understand?””

He was yelling, tears streaming down his face. Neighbor’s lights began to flicker on, signaling that Salvador street was indeed alive.He calmed.But the spite he held for Mr.James remained.

“I don't hate you. I just want you to know you're not shiny.” he spat.

As the lights of Mr.James house flickered on with annoyance, Ataro retreated back into his Chamber of safety. His affluent palace of solitude. His home.

Ataro could hear an angered “Well fuck you too, ya ignorant bastard,” in the distance.  
How classy.

From the day Ataro had met Mr. James, sweet Margaret’s dreadful husband, he disliked him. He could just tell the man spat on his existence and twisted his worn sneakers over the slimy spittle. Mr. James thought he was incapable of his job, thought he was crazy. Thought he was destined to fail.Thought him worthless .Atraro didn't hate him, however. He didn't hate him because Mr. James was a mess. And he respected people who lived on especially if they had messes.He knew he was messy himself. Messes.

He needed sleep.

Ataro dragged his once lively feet back to bed.His sudden burst of emotion had drained him. He wrapped himself carefully in his plush sheets, resigning himself to return back to his never ending nightly nightmares that galloped infinitely through his mind. It was 4:30 am. The returned silence seemed to emphasize the moonlight that leaked through the window, creating shadow dances on his wooden bedroom floor.  
He had work tomorrow.

 

The sun invaded his senses, radiating warmth on his otherwise cold extremities. With a quick stretch towards the chandelier accented ceiling, Ataro dragged his weary body towards his bathroom for the second time in 4 hours.

It was 8:30 am.

The sound of the water running down the sink, the rhythmic brushing of his teeth, the steam that warmed his back as he cleansed his hair with sweet potato scented shampoo were things an average person would find mundane and insignificant, but Ataro found extraordinary.They were his calm after the storm, his temporary relief from the coils upon coils of coiling turmoil that coiled evermore in his restless mind.He loved it.He let the shower rain upon his face, rain drops trickling down worn skin, a worn body. He was not himself, and yet he was. An anomaly cast away from the heavens. Birth.

It was 9:00 am. Work began in 30 minutes.

“Shit!”

and so the daily race began towards a corporeal job, riding in his corporal car drinking his corporal wake-me-up coffee in his corporeal life.The interior of his smart car smelled of a mixture of fresh old tires and lavender car freshener. He loved it. Morning traffic seemed to melt into each other: highway systems and streets endlessly converged into one big hunk of man-made stew. Clouds of car exhaust made him cough; he needed a cigarette.

How classy.

He inhaled for an eternity,exhaling only when his lungs lit as bright as the butt of his cigarette.Its essence danced in the fog of the morning rush hour.  
He lay his head back against the headrest of his car and fluttered his eyes shut for a moment in the midst of the traffic jam. He exhaled more filtered smoke through his nostrils. He remembered the short interview King jackson had given him before he blessed him with his current profession.

The office was gargantuan-and yet even that was an understatement. The room was at least the size of a classroom. The spacious room was minimalist, with only his desk, an obnoxiously expensive swivel chair and select office supplies littering his oversized cherrywood desk. A large manilla envelope rested on its top. Mr Jackson swiveled around in his leather chair to face his audience of one.

“You came”

“You instructed me to be here in thirty minutes,” Ataro replied, still breathless from his sprint from the taxi that took him to King Jackson’s office.

“Who are you?” King Jackson asked, an eerie calm taking over his features

“Excuse me?”

“I said who are you?” King Jackson asked, more insistent, demanding.

“I-I am Ataro-,” He began to stutter.

“Get out of my office if you can't answer the question.” He began to swivel his chair back again so that his back was facing Ataro.

“I don't understand your question-”

“Then I was mistaken. You are not worth my time. Get out,” He was absent of emotion.

Ataro fell crestfallen. How was he to answer this question? He was not going to have his chance at being something, a star, a somebody, ruined just because of his own ignorance. He would do anything to get a job with this man!

“Sir I would do anything to get this job!”

King Jackson swiveled back around, his interest peaked, His right eyebrow quirked, and his gold tooth peaked out from underneath his curious smirk.

“Anything, Mr. Ataro?” He stood up. He began to circle Ataro.

“And What qualifies as anything? Selling your house? Your dignity? Your soul?” King jackson broke out in hysterical laughter, slapping his knee. “Ha! Now that would be a sacrifice!”

“If I could, I would. You’re a legend. And I want to be a star. To have my work known. To have a taste of success, even if for a moment.”

King Jackson sobered. “You would sell your soul?”

“...”

“Your pride?” King jackson nearly closed the distance between them, lowering his voice to a gravelly whisper, “Your freedom?”

 

“...”

“But that comes with immense success!” He stepped back from Ataro. A lone droplet of sweat trickled down Ataro’s spine. “In order to truly commit oneself to a leadership role one must be fully invested! Work must come first! First first first! Never second! One must never be looked at as weak! Seen their weak spots! One must always be ruthless! Only then can your station, your hierarchy, your place in the world can never be stolen! You must be the king of your world!” He nearly shouted his speech, his hands emphasizing the significance of his words.

Araro felt the vague crescendo of an orchestra ring in his ears.

The room fell silent

“I know who I am Mr.Jackson,” Ataro spoke, voice wavering but determined. Strong. Desperate.

“Who are you Mr. Ataro”

“I am in control,”

A lone echo of a clap resonated throughout the room. Clap. Clap, clap. Clap followed clap until a symphony of applause generated by King Jackson could be heard in the nearly vacant office.

“Bravo, son! Bravo! Atta boy!” A broad smile stretched across King Jackson's thin lips, his eyes twinkling, emphasizing his crinkles.

“I like you. You didn’t run. HA!” He let out a sudden jolt of laughter. “I’ll give you a job as my assistant.”

“Thank you for such a promotion!” Ataro held back a gasp of amazement and gratitude. Such a high paying position for a first time employee!

“Just sign this contract,” King jackson stepped back behind his desk and took a single sheet of paper out of the manilla folder. And you're set”

Ataro quickly signed the sheet.

King Jackson smirked.

“I believe you will be one fine assistant, Ataro. A fine assistant indeed.”

 

“Here’s the thing,Sam.You aren't on your job.You are hardly even at your job.Who do you think i am? Some boss you can run over? Some blasé white-collared worker just yearning, just waiting for you to fuck me in the mouth with your fucking excuses?Are you a star?Are you that special?”

He was shiny; he could tell off his lazy coworkers-or even fire them-if he wanted to

“You're fired.”

She ran crying out of his office.

Ataro’s office was quite the charm. It consisted of coffee mugs bought from a local coffee shop in the area sporting quirky themes: “2 +2= fish” being one of them. He loved coffee, it kept him alive and alert, ready .Ready. Ready. His desk was made of a rich mahogany,decorated with a plethora of pens and papers-for the visuals,of course.Two fairly large tawny leather seats were placed directly in front of his desk in the case of small conference meetings discussing the success of his company.His company.

“Mine.”

A picture of sweet Margaret, framed in stained wood, lay near an unoccupied corner of the organized desk. He ran his fingers lightly over its wooden frame.

He heard a knock at the door.

Sam came back to beg. She was quite beautiful, really: tall, blonde, sexy. She smelled of fresh flowers,a fragrant meadow gently billowing in the breeze.He knew John liked her, he wanked to her every day in the family bathroom. How classy.

Her face was deranged by tears and mucous.

He sighed. “Why back so soon?”

I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for not coming..”She piped up  
Then hesitated. Then blurted,”but i have a valid excuse! I’m pregnant with my boyfriend’s child! And I've been sick.”

Ataro narrowed his eyes at her. She looked fragile, pale, lifeless..  
Just like youngster to get knocked up in the prime of their life.John is definitely not going to like this.

He hesitated, something he never does.”Does the rest of the office know?”

“I only told John!” Oh how classy.

John was a middle aged man around the age of forty-five with worry lines greying up his features in eclectic patterns around his forehead and mouth ,emphasizing his dark circles. He had a belly too big from too many cans of beer, and an attitude even bigger. He was the editor and cheif at the company. He respected him.

Sam winked, “So are you gonna let me off?”

The dim light of the lamp emphasized the sweaty stickiness of their intertwined bodies.Their pace frantic, searching, groping for whatever their hearts desired.The moon cast a gentle light through the window onto their slick bodies.

It was 9:00 pm.

Breath. Huff. The sound of sheets. A scream.

It was 8:30 am.

Ataro woke up with a start from his royal bed, sheets soaked in sweat, naked and confused as a newborn child. He ran to the mirror to examine his features. His black hair, stringy with sweat, stuck desperately to the frame of his face.His eyes were dilated; his lips plump with blood, so filled they bled a droplet of crimson. He icked his lips and rinsed his face in his shiny sink. Strawberry jelly.

“I…”

This was the first night he didn't dream of fire, of being cast away, of being damned by those damned dreams that he had been having since he was thirteen. He felt alive! he wanted to scream, to shout! He danced in expansiveness of his bathroom.

“I am finally king !I am the true ruler of my universe! haha!”He could hear the sound of a glorious band rise in forte ,rise like the beating timbre of his heart, rise, rise higher and higher like smoke and burning coal and singed silver.The band exploded in his ears and he loved it!  
He had to tell someone.He ran back into his bedroom, not caring that every extremity swung in the breeze of his air conditioned castle. He remembered flowers.

“Sam! Sam! Guess..”

But she wasn't there.

The room was empty.

“Sam? Sam??” He began to frantically search the house. She was nowhere to be found.  
“Had I been imagining everything?” He exhaled in confusion. He didn’t understand! Everything felt real. He did go to work yesterday. Did he?

“Sam!” he shouted once more. He made his way back to his bedroom and slowly eased himself onto the bed. He was naked. Sweat still stained the sheets. How was Sam not here?  
“She had to have been here. She must have left.”

Typical.

Ataro made the way to his shower. He let the hot steam rain upon his hair, his tense, pale, broad shoulders. His thoughts. He let the water purify..whatever he was feeling. Had he really been imagining things?At least he didn't have his usual hellish nightmares to accompany his sleep. He was a free man.

Ataro stepped out the shower, wrapping a black towel around his slim waist, reveling in the calming scent of sweet potato emphasized by the warm steam in his bathroom. Atro studied himself in the mirror. He needed to shave. His dark circles remained embedded under his eyes. His eyes still were a sterling grey tinged red from the aggravation that comes with stress. His appearance remained the same, but his dreams disappeared. What changed?  
He made his way back to his bedroom. His sanctuary. He laid on the floor, naked. Contemplating. He had work in an hour. he put on the silver ring King Jackson gave him as a promotional gift and headed back to his Promised Land.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy:)

Chapter Two

 

A puff of a cigarette.The morning rush. The not so gentle current of warm, humid air. Impatient honking. The usual mass of traffic allowed Ataro to sink deep into his thoughts.  He looked at the ring King Jackson gave him. A ring as shiny as gold.

 

He stopped.

 

Never had he felt gold be worth comparing silver to. But somehow it fit. Somehow it seemed right. The ring was gold. Golden, like him. He reminisced  the beautiful day King jackson gave him his perfect ring. Smoke danced around his black mane, teasing.

 

“You have worked for me for two years, Ataro. Here, have this. You have earned it son. You are like a son to me, y’know. Strong. Demanding. Ruthless!” His laugh boomed in the doorway of, at the time, King Jackson and his shared office.

 

You were an excellent assistant. And now I want you to have a leadership role. Be my right hand man.”

 

“Are you asking me to-” Ataro was cut off

 

“Be the Co- owner dammit! I know you ain’t dense! You're a star!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in emphasis

 

Just promise me one thing,”  He spoke with a sudden seriousness.

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

“You will desire and fight for everything. You WILL rule this company with a vigilance, pitiless, with demand. You WILL serve me well.”

 

Ataro was shaking with excitement. He was going to be worth so much! He was going to be beautiful! Alive! He was wanted! He was worthy! He will serve King Jackson!

 

A pride-filled baritone overtook Ataro’s voice. “Yes sir!”

 

“‘Atta boy!”  King Jackson bellowed, a smile alighting his features, his eyes twinkling like a polished trophy.

 

“You’ll be a great partner, Ataro. The best partner I could ever ask for.”

 

Ataro finished his cigarette and threw it out into the swell of traffic. Without King Jackson he would have never been who he was now. Too bad he didn't need him anymore. He was a beautiful man. He loved him.But he was too shiny now, too bright. And King Jackson understood that perfectly. So he left.

 

He wondered how sweet Margaret was doing with her repulsive, worthless husband. Ataro craved a nice, strong wine.

 

At work, all Ataro could think about was Sam. He craved to see her, wondered where she could have gone. She wasn't at work today.

 

He saw John walking down the hallway. He summoned him. 

“John, have you heard from Sam? She was supposed to be at work today”

 

“Who’s Sam?”

 

“The girl you wank to.”

 

He sputtered, flabbergasted. Embarrassed over his horniness.

 

“I don’t know a Sam, and if I did I would never wank to someone in the company, Jesus man,” he began to stumble away, leaving the faint scent of beer in his wake.

 

He really respected John.

 

But he was a liar. He had to be. Sam was here. She worked here. He saw her everyday. He held her. 

 

He grabbed his favorite coffee mug and flung it across the room. Emotionless.

 

“Jonh, clean up that coffee mug for me.”

 

“I'm not your assist-”

 

“Clean up that coffee mug or I’ll fire your ass for lying to your boss.”

John stuttered,”Ly-ly-lying? What did I do-”

 

“Sam fucking works here! I saw here yesterday! he screamed.

 

John paused. He looked..careful. Too careful.

 

Ataro’s eyes narrowed to slits.

 

“Sir, there is really no Sam here. Maybe an intern of yours?”

 

John looked genuine. His stomach looked genuine.

 

“Clean up the glass, John,” Ataro spoke sharply.

 

As John cleaned up the glass, Ataro let his mind wander. 

 

He knew what he needed to do. He needed to see Margaret.

 

“I’m leaving work John, don’t fuck up,” Ataro reached to grab for his coat draped haphazardly on his office chair.

 

“But you’re the boss, shouldn't you be here-”

 

“I singlehandedly rose this company from being the very best in the nation to being the very best in the world. The BEST. In the span of a measly couple of years,” He pounded his fist on the cherrywood desk.

It was me that lead to this, this brand, this… this!”  he through his hands in the air, praising, shaking, “To grow exponentially. To its inevitable success. Surely you can’t fuck that up in a couple of hours. And if you did, surely I could fix it. As the boss,” He mumbled, sharply, pointedly.

 

Ataro moved from behind behind his work desk, knelt in front of John, and calmly spoke:

“Who hired me to be the leader of this company? King Jackson. Who made immense progress, allowed for the growth and stimulation of this editing firm, so aroused and hot and bothered with success other companies are nutting to get a piece, a share of it? Of what I built? Me! It was me! Not the king! Me!” violin strings popping.

 

John was silent.

 

“Who’s King Jackson?”  he finally inquired.

 

“Who’s King Jackson?” Ataro laughed incredulously, “how long have you been here? Working here? Are you ignorant? You’ve been here for years!  Who is King Jackson! HA! ridiculous!”

 

“... I don’t know anyone with the name Jackson.”

 

John began to leave slowly, the shards of glass cradled in his right palm.

 

Ataro grabbed his wrist, leaving red marks. Holding on to dear life.

 

“Louis Jackson!” he was nearly screaming “Louis Jackson!!”

 

The smell of copper permeated the air.

 

“There was never a Louis Jackson-”

 

“Dismissed! Fired! Burn in hell John. I thought I respected you but you are as worthless as corroded steel. Silver wannabe!”

 

“You’ll never be gold,” John whispered. A soft melody of words that made Ataro’s ear;s bleed. 

 

Red seem to spill from all corners of the room. His favorite color.

 

Ataro let out a gut wrenching scream.

 

The room remained as silent as the universe itself. Expansive. Vulnerable

 

It was 4:30 pm. He found himself outside of James and Margaret’s house.

 

Their house, if he was honest with himself,  was quite beautiful. A magnificent cherry tree shaded their two story red brick mansion. Their abode was decorated with with roses surrounding its perimeter. How classy.

 

He saw the stillhouse of the gentle curves of a woman in the upper bedroom window. 

 

He hesitated.

 

He saw the curtains of the window close.

 

He waited.

 

He heard the rustling of old locks, worn with age and use, uncoil, unlock! And out emerged Margaret.

 

Sweet Margaret.

 

She wore a pink cardigan. She hugged it to her body as if were her lifeline, though she looked warm. Gentle. Her lips were the color of her the rogue on her cheeks, a blushing, modest pink. A lovely shade. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, soft, caressing her rounded, slight shoulders. Her pajama pants were made of  fleece, prints of crosses littering the material. She smelled of fresh carnations.

 

She spoke, tenderly, a caress of a breeze upon his pale skin. Warm.

 

“How are you Ataro?”

 

She moved towards him, slowly, gracefully, and tucked a piece of his raven locks behind his ear. He sighed, letting his tired eyes flutter closed.

 

“Take care of yourself Ataro. You know I’m too old to worry.” She lightly placed her graceful, slender hands on the back of his head and brought it down to her strong, sloping shoulders. She held him

 

Her cardigan become damp.

 

She held him still.

 

He heard a rustle behind him.

 

“Margaret the fuck are you doing with this bastard?” He heard an old man shriek in anger.

 

James. He smelled whiskey.

 

Margaret never moved from holding him. Fom hiding him.

 

“What do you think I’m doing, James.” Sturdy. Delicate.

 

James marched over to them. 

 

The breeze that passed through them held hints of carnations, of rose, and of liquor. How bitter.

 

He punched Ataro square in the face, knocking him to the ground.

 

He slapped margaret. He could hear the sound resonate through the lawn.

 

His ears rang.

 

The sprinklers came on and washed the scene.

 

Silence.

 

Then noise.

 

“Don’t touch him. Don’t look at him. Don’t even come near him Margaret or i'll beat you like I did him! I'll do it!”

 

Ataro, slick with dewy grass, lunged at James. He smelled copper. 

 

He punched. And punched. Delt blow after blow. The smell of alcohol and rust permeated the air. Dizzying.

 

“Don't,”punch. “Hit,” punch “Margaret,” punch. “ You,” punch. “Bastard,” punch. Punch after punch rained upon James until he was limp. Colored with strawberry jam. 

 

All Ataro could hear was his breath.

 

All he could see was margaret, her mouth open, eyes wet. A beautiful ocean.

 

He stopped himself. Raised himself from the body of James. And walked towards Margaret, covered in strawberry jam.

 

She looked at him. Steely. Relieved. And said only this:

 

“Best you go back to your home, Ataro. Before the cops come.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this sample feel free to support me by buying the kindle e-book on amazon:)


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